Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Brie
I wake to Adrien’s phone buzzing and the disorienting luxury of his bedroom.
My body recognizes where I am before my mind catches up—the weight of expensive sheets, his warmth beside me, that particular scent of his cologne lingering on the pillows.
After years of waking alone or on assignment, this feels uncomfortably close to something I want to get used to.
The blackout curtains make it impossible to tell what time it is, and for a moment I just lie there resting.
Adrien groans. “Sorry. I thought I put it on silent.”
For a brief second, I block out the distant vibration and relax into the comfort of the cocoon, the sense of safety, and Adrien’s long, sinewy body stretched beside mine. But all too soon, I glimpse the time—and realize we massively overslept—which I never do.
“It’s okay. I need to get up.” I press a kiss to his shoulder before sliding out of bed.
The simple domesticity of it catches me off guard. When did we morph into a real couple? Because that’s what this is, isn’t it? We don’t have an end date. When the project ends, there’s no reason we can’t still see each other, is there?
“What time is it?”
“It’s after eight. I never sleep this late.”
On my way to the bathroom I see him lift the phone and set it back down.
“Who is it?” I wouldn’t normally ask, but his expression isn’t merely dismissive; there’s something else there and given all that’s happened…
“My sister. I’ll call her back from the office. Get your shower. I’ll get us coffee.”
I pause in the bathroom doorway and ask, “Are you still planning to let Eddie go today?”
“Yes.” He’s in his boxers, barefoot, but the way he’s looking at me, with his stance and commanding air, he could lead a press conference. He is not a man who needs a suit.
“I’ll go in with you. Before you let him go, your security team should be briefed.”
“I’m aware. Macon, the head of security, should be in by ten.”
In under thirty minutes, we’ve both showered and dressed. His housekeeper, Maria, is in the kitchen when I enter seeking a refill of the French-pressed coffee.
“Good morning,” she says, greeting me from beside the stove. “What would you like for breakfast?”
Is this how he wakes all the time? The casual luxury of it makes me hyperaware of the chasm between our worlds.
On the yacht, I could pretend we were both visitors to that floating palace.
But here, watching Maria move through his kitchen with practiced ease, I’m reminded that Adrien doesn’t just visit this life—he lives it.
Meanwhile, my apartment back home has a coffee maker I bought at Target and a fridge that’s empty more often than not.
“Just coffee’s fine, thanks.”
My phone vibrates, and Hudson’s name flashes. I lift the phone and say to Adrien, “Work,” stepping into the living room to answer. “Hi, Hudson.”
“You’re with d’Avricourt?”
“Yes,” I answer and behind me I hear Adrien instruct Maria, “She’ll have the same egg-white omelet I’m having. With fruit.”
That’s exactly what I would have requested—how did he know?
The answer settles warm in my chest: he’s been paying attention.
Not just to threats and security concerns, but to me.
The real me. It’s such a small thing, knowing my breakfast preference, but it feels enormous.
Because it feels less like fleeting attraction and lust.
I brush away the thought and focus on the call with Hudson.
“I’m going to join Adrien as he makes personnel changes.”
“He’s letting Eddie go?”
“That’s the plan.”
“We’ll monitor reactions. I’ve got Jake and Noah scheduled for perimeter support, but should I have them meet you inside?”
“No, but if things go sideways, you can send them in.”
“Will do.”
“Has he surfaced?”
“Negative on CCTV and inside The Sanctuary.” Hudson’s tone has an edge that means he’s juggling multiple variables. I know the feeling. “He might be avoiding the place entirely.”
Interesting. If he’s a no-show, then we won’t learn much, other than he likely has no plans of returning.
“Does this mean Adrien’s looping in his security team?”
“Affirmative.” We tapped the staff work phones, but given any complicit party likely communicates on a personal device, that’s a partial view of staff reactions.
“I’ll have Quinn pull in backup to monitor.”
“Copy. Are you back in NC?”
“No. I’m pursuing information on Moira Kelly. I’ll touch base later.”
When the call ends, Adrien and I eat breakfast, then head out for the day. Given the plans ahead, it all feels remarkably normal.
We stop by his office first, which is across the street from The Sanctuary. Only when we enter, an assistant greets him at the elevator.
“Mr. d’Avricourt, your sister is here.”
“In the building?”
“Yes, sir. She arrived five minutes ago. I just made her a coffee. She told me she’d wait until you got in and not to bother you, that you weren’t picking up your phone.”
His assistant is a young man with a shaved head and a suit jacket with sleeves that fall almost to his knuckles, but below his sleeve hem, his fingers rub each other in one of the oddest nervous tics I’ve ever seen.
I follow behind Adrien, watching as his assistant trails by his side, so on edge I wonder if Adrien is prone to snapping at assistants.
Adrien lengthens his strides and slows only once he’s in sight of his sister.
Margot d’Avricourt looks exactly like her photos but moves with more energy, more presence.
She’s poised, like the photos, but in person, there’s a liveliness to her that film doesn’t catch.
Her dark hair is pulled back, and as I step closer, I’m struck by the unnatural color of her eyes, yellow like a tiger.
The longer I study them, I become convinced that they’re color contacts.
She turns those eyes on me, ignoring her brother when he greets her with, “Margot. What are you doing here?”
“Who is this?” She pushes up from the sofa, eyeing me like I’m a curious bauble. She’s protective of Adrien—I can see it in how she positions herself, how her attention sharpens when she looks at me. I respect that, even if it makes this conversation more complicated.
“This is Brie Anderson.”
Margot’s mouth opens and whatever she’s about to say, Adrien stops it with, “She’s my girlfriend. Be nice.”
“I’m always nice.” She waves her hand dismissively, but my distinct impression is he cut her off from saying something that would have been anything but nice.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, inserting myself between the siblings.
“Anderson…that name’s not familiar,” Margot pauses, studying not only my face, but also my outfit.
“What happened to…” her eyes narrow, and I can practically see her trying to figure out if I’m the woman from Monaco with a different name, or if her brother has already dismissed that woman and moved on.
“Brie, would you mind giving my sister and me a minute?”
“Of course,” I say. “I’m going to go down to the basement. Meet me there?”
“Why don’t you head to the security office? Macon is waiting. I won’t be five minutes behind you.”
“Security. This sounds serious. Do you work in security, Ms. Anderson?” Margot asks.
Before I can answer, Adrien’s hand falls to my lower back to usher me out of his office.
His touch shouldn’t affect me in front of his sister, shouldn’t register at all when we’re about to fire a potential threat.
But my body doesn’t care about professional boundaries anymore.
It remembers last night, this morning—all of our stolen moments.
“Forgive my sister. She’s naturally nosy. I’ll be with you in a few minutes. Aaron?” His assistant perks up upon hearing his name. “Will you escort Ms. Anderson to the security floor. Tell Macon that I’ll be five minutes late to the meeting, and Ms. Anderson will be joining us.”
“Yes, sir,” he answers, but the office door closes before sir has left his mouth.
Girlfriend.
The word echoes as Aaron leads me toward security. Adrien didn’t say bodyguard. Didn’t say consultant. He said girlfriend.
My first instinct is to correct it—to restore the lines, the distance. But the part of me that woke up tangled in his arms this morning doesn’t. That part lets it stand. Just for now.
We aren’t normal. I know that. But the word still lands somewhere warm and unsettling.
Aaron is quiet. Polite. A little too eager to be agreeable. Which makes him useful.
“Does Margot visit often?” I ask, keeping my tone casual.
“She lives in France. I didn’t know she was arriving.”
That tracks. Adrien hadn’t either.
“How long have you worked for Mr. d’Avricourt?”
“I’m a temp. But I’ve been here about a month.”
He rubs his fingers together as we walk—like he’s trying to spark warmth. A possible tell. Or just nerves. I’m in no position to judge. I’ve spent the entire morning policing my own reactions, pretending I don’t remember the way Adrien looked at me over breakfast.
“I schedule meetings with his sister.” Aaron adds, as if realizing too late that he’s said something notable. “You know—time zones and all.”
He schedules meetings with her.
Interesting.
Then again, Margot d’Avricourt isn’t just a sister anymore. She’s the CEO of a billion-dollar conglomerate. Managing access to her—even for family—probably comes with its own protocol.
As we head toward the security meeting, I can’t shake the feeling that we’re missing something important. Maybe it’s just pre-operation nerves, but Eddie’s absence feels less like coincidence and more like preparation.